


The Incense Burner

by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Elucien - Freeform, F/M, Incense Burner, NSFW, Series, Smut, the incense burner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys
Summary: After a collapse in the Hewn City reveals a long lost Vault of the High Lords, Lucien and Elain accidentally come to possess one of the Lord’s treasures. What appears to be a simple incense burner turns out to be something far, far more. As Elain and Lucien fall under its spell time and again they will be drawn into a world they could only imagine in their wildest dreams...
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Inspired by Chapters 117 & 119, “Incense Burner” of ‘The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation’ by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu.

##  **Part 1**

“Elain?” Lucien wandered through the dark underbelly of the Hewn City. His voice echoed forwards and back down the rough stone halls, twisting and distorting his words until it sounded like the wordless screams of the dead.

Maybe he’d accidentally stepped into Hell while looking for his wife.

No, if any female lured her mate into the fires of Hell it would be Nesta- and Cassian would happily follow all the way down.

Besides, if Elain somehow did find the underworld she was well equipped to get herself out again. Amren and Nuala both disappeared along with the middle Archeron.

A tremor shook the mountain and Lucien quickly reached out to touch the walls of the tunnel. It was a narrow space, he couldn’t even extend his arms out fully. Mercifully the ceiling was high enough for him to walk upright, but Azriel and Cassian had to send Lucien on alone without them. Even folded, Illyrian wings were simply too tall. The males would have to walk with their top halves bowed almost parallel to the floor to fit, and tucking them tight enough to walk down the narrow hallway without scraping against sharp rock would be too much of a hassle.

The females went first. That was nearly ten hours ago.

Lucien could feel Rhys and Feyre’s power winding through the stone of the Hewn City, holding the buildings as the ground shook. Blasting for a mine shaft had collapsed several previously unknown smuggler holds beneath the city, destabilizing the base of the mountain, destroying a large section of the slums, and crumbling the foundations of the Hewn Palace, destabilizing the entire western wing.

The High Lord and Lady had winnowed from Velaris just in time to stop the palace from burying the survivors below. Rhys focused on bracing the most critical foundations while Feyre convinced the stone to bind and heal.

There was no longer danger of collapse- and many of those buried in the rubble had been saved- but as members of the Inner Circle turned their attention from the structures to the injured or trapped, a glint of gold caught Amren’s eye.

A simple, perfectly normal gold coin- with the face of the first High Lord of Night upon it. A treasure so ancient and rare that even Rhysand had never seen its like before. There was no telling where it came from or how it got there. It was Elain who finally noticed it- a flicker of light high above.

The original collapse ripped the ground out from beneath the lowest dungeons of the Hewn Palace- ancient cells that had been sealed off long ago when renovations blocked the ventilation shafts. What Elain noticed was a space behind the exposed base of a wall- the barest hint of a tunnel that had itself been sealed away.

Amren, Nuala, Elain, Cassian, and Azriel all made their way up into the Hewn Palace and wound their way back down into the dungeons- where Azriel surrounded the group with his blackest shadows to hide whatever it was that lurked in the prisons. The Court of Nightmares was well enough known in Prythian- it was what Amarantha tried her best to recreate Under the Mountain. Lucien had no interest in seeing what a Court like that would consider a monster worthy of being caged.

Down several levels more and they arrived at a black door. Azriel produced the lone key and with a scream of un-oiled metal he opened the old wing of the dungeon.

The air was thick with the stench of mildew and rot, but there was no denying the breeze from the missing sections of floor. Feyre and Rhysand both were supporting the floor beneath them as the group walked over towards the edge of the chasm and found the wall Elain had seen from below.

Lucien formed the shield while Cassian’s siphons flashed and the wall exploded. A bit of stone rained down into the debris below, but Lucien deflected most of it to the far side of the dungeon, where it pulverized the mummified remains of some poor bastard who’d been sealed in (in fact, it appeared most of the prisoners were still inside when this wing of the dungeon closed).

Sure enough, there was a tunnel hidden behind the stone.

A very awkward one.

It was Amren who, upon seeing the endless curving darkness, suddenly remembered what was there fifteen thousand years ago:

A vault, where the High Lords of Old secreted away what she described as ‘sensitive treasures’.

Rhys and Feyre were too busy holding up half the city to search for themselves, so Azriel begrudgingly appointed Nuala to accompany Amren. She pulled along Elain and when Lucien tried to follow as well he was barred from entry by a crackling white wall of power.

“I want to ask her about your sex life!” Amren called warmly as she led the two other females into the black.

Feyre and Rhys repaired most of the floor of the dungeon, only leaving a single cell exposed in order to give the males air as they waited. Every now and then a tremor would shake the city as some deep pillar of stone was raised, but there was no further risk of damage.

An hour passed.

Four.

Seven.

That was when Amren’s barrier flashed and vanished. After several minutes Lucien heard the faintest of screeches echoing down the tunnel- a whistle or a scream he couldn’t say.

But no matter how much Cassian and Azriel wanted to run down the tunnel and see what happened, it was simply not suited for Illyrians. So Lucien entered alone.

Now, two hours later, he wasn’t even sure he’d walked very far at all.

There was no discernible curve to the tunnel- which made sense considering that the dungeons sat below ground level. The stone never changed, the tunnel never widened or narrowed further, and the only sound was the endless echo of his own footsteps.

A steady wind blew at his back- one of the Illyrians had been pushing air into the tunnel ever since they found it, but even the ground was free of dust in the strange place.

Lucien wished he had Rhysand or Feyre with him- with every step his conviction grew that whatever treasure the ancient Lords hid at the end of this tunnel was probably something only a High Lord (or Lady) could hope to contain.

“If they were dead, Cerridwen would have come already,” Azriel said after they heard the distorted screech. He’d assured Lucien that- trapped, injured, or deceased- Cerridwen would know if her twin was in trouble.

‘Unless whatever the High Lords locked away was so dangerous that even a dead soul can’t escape it.’

“Elain?” Lucien cupped his hands around his mouth and called again, with just a hint of fear in his voice this time.

“I’m not answering if he’s going to be rude and only call her,” a low, snippy voice finally echoed back to him.

Amren.

“Amren?” Lucien called out as loudly as he could. His tone was much the same, but he had a relieved smile on his face. He hurried forward a bit faster.

“That’s more like it!” her voice snapped back.

The echo was difficult to understand, but after only a few minutes of hurried walking Lucien was finally able to see a light on the walls that didn’t belong to his own faelight. At long last the tunnel turned sharply, revealing a black door that was held ajar only an inch- wedged with what had to be a priceless scepter.

Lucien pulled the door open and breathed a relieved sigh to see Elain with her hair tied back in a messy braid sorting through a chest of scrolls.

“He’s only happy to see her,” Amren yanked him into the room, snatched the scepter from his hand, and jammed it back into the doorway. “Nuala doesn’t like the dark hallway,” she said by way of explanation.

“Something is watching us,” Nuala was half hidden behind a large armoir with a pile of books.

“Did one of you- did someone scream a couple hours ago?” Lucien asked hesitantly. The matter-of-fact way Nuala spoke worried him.

“I whistled so you boys could be useful for a change,” Amren said. A moment later she sighed and looked Lucien up and down, “but they sent… you.”

Lucien had years to get used to Amren’s ribbing. She knew damn well that only Lucien would fit in the tunnel, she was just teasing in her own way. Her reputation still terrified him, but he was no longer intimidated. “How can I make myself useful?”

“I don’t know, explore,” Amren waved a hand.

The entryway to the vault was no larger than that of the manor in Prythian that the Archeron sisters once owned. It was filled with rich furniture piled high with crates or scrolls. To be honest, it looked as if someone were stopped as they prepared to move from one home to the other.

Lucien walked carefully through the maze the females had cleared among the stacks- past the skeleton of a chaise lounge and around a suit of scaled armor. He reached out and gently stroked Elain’s ear as he walked by. As she always did, Elain tipped ever so slightly to nuzzle his palm with her cheek, never looking away from the scrolls.

While the structure of the entryway consisted of the same hollowed-out black stone as the hall, the space further back- hidden from the door- was the opposite.

White marble stretched into an area larger than the throne room of the Hewn Palace, and a massive white column rose from the center to hold up a vaulted ceiling. Mosaics covered the walls in place of paint- perfect recreations of the first seven High Lords of Night. Stern, moon-white faces, they held not a scrap of resemblance to Rhysand. Their eyes were over-large and round as well, giving them the look of some species of faerie rather than High.

“The original High Lords were Dark Fae,” Amren said. Lucien nearly jumped out of his skin- he didn’t know she’d followed. “They all looked kind of like bugs, too used to scampering about in the dark. Back then the Woodland Fae were a merchant class, but as they became more powerful they began interbreeding with the Dark Fae and the High Fae were created. Night was the slowest to adapt. Rhys’ father and that little snot Kier were only four or five generations removed from the last pureblood Dark Fae.”

Lucien had only heard of Dark Fae in rumors. The so-called Lesser Fae would whisper that the High Fae never emerged from the Cauldron but rather were hybrid spawn of two faerie species. If those whispers ever reached his father’s ear, the High Lord of Autumn would round up entire families and put them to death for blasphemy.

But now, looking at those careful tile portraits of the first Lords, it would seem the stories held some air of truth.

Though a sea of neatly stacked crates filled the floor of the white room, Lucien wanted a closer look at the portraits. He made to take a step across the threshold between white and black when Amren yanked him back.

“Cauldron,” Lucien swore as the little one kicked the back of his knee and he fell. She hooked two fingers into his nose and pulled up, trapping him in place. Amren grabbed his red braid and yanked it around to hold against the white stone that rose through the door frame.

A moment later, Lucien was released.

“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?!” he rounded on Amren, furiously wiping his nose. 

She reached out and wiped her hand on his green tunic with a grimace, “Just making sure you are your father’s child.” Amren pointed to a series of twisting, winding figures inlaid upon the threshold in gold. 

Lucien couldn’t even begin to decipher whatever ancient fae tongue the writing was in. Nor was he particularly keen to try- for the moment he was still focused on the little she-demon that stuck her fingers into his nose.

“It says that only the blood of a Lord of Night can cross the threshold. Otherwise your little braid would have been incinerated,” Amren finished wiping her fingers and wandered back towards the door to a chest of jewels.

“I’m not-”

“Look at the third one on the left,” Amren didn’t even look at the wall. Lucien counted over. A younger Lord than the others, but still vaguely… bug-like.

“You’re a descendant through his fourth daughter. That’s Helion’s great-great-great- you get the picture- grandfather.”

Lucien balked and stared harder at the portrait, trying to see some family resemblance. It was a few years since Beron finally died and Lady Vanserra revealed Lucien’s parentage to him. Helion- as it turned out- suspected all along that Beron’s youngest was different from the others. Lucien’s mother now resided in Day, waiting for the appropriate mourning period to expire before announcing her mating with Helion.

Though Lucien’s relationship with his real father had been strained at the start, they had recently managed to achieve simple awkwardness at the last Solstice dinner.

Even so, it was hard to break 400 years of habit. Lucien had to remind himself to look for Helion’s face in the High Lord, not Beron’s.

Before he realized it, Lucien had stepped across the threshold and into the white room. He felt a tingling in his bones, but no flame. No matter how many generations came between Lucien and this male, evidently there was just enough of a mark left in his blood.

“Want to get a close up look of the portraits?” Amren asked.

“Yes,” Lucien was mystified by the strange looking Dark Fae.

“Then start passing boxes out here, we’ll stack them in the hallway. Everything is wrapped in spelled cloth, a little jostling won’t activate it.”

Naturally, Amren had been waiting for Lucien to get access to the room and help with manual labor. He took a step down towards the base of the stairs and then froze.

Elain had been looking in a chest of scrolls. Nuala a pile of books. Amren a chest of jewels. There were boxes and crates in the entryway, yes, but nothing was open.

And Lucien walked for two hours down an empty tunnel to reach this hidden place.

“Amren?” Lucien turned to scowl at the little demon, “Did you drop the coin?” There were no loose piles of ancient moneys sitting around the room, and not a single coin on the long walk here.

“Elain, you’re married to a suspicious little one, aren’t you?” Amren reached into a pocket and flipped a gold coin across the threshold to Lucien, “I picked them up as we walked you moron.”

“Then how do you know how things are wrapped?” Lucien caught the coin but wouldn’t let the subject go.

Amren snorted, “Because I watched them seal this room. Who do you think laid the wards in the wall?” she pointed at the gold lettering.

Lucien felt his face redden, “Oh…”

Over the millennia many High Lords had sought Amren out. For the right price- and if she was in the right mood- she could be convinced to help with traps and spells. She was as likely to kill you as she was to help, but there were rare occasions where she walked away without drawing blood.

Elain leaned back far enough to see Lucien from her position and offered a warm smile. Lucien rolled his eyes- an insult Amren magnanimously let slide- and turned back to pick up the first box.

“Should we really be moving these? We could just wait for Rhys and Feyre.” 

“They’ll want to go through everything as well,” Amren said, accepting a deceptively heavy crate from the male. She passed it over a pile of scrolls to Nuala, who wove her way towards the door. “Knowing Feyre, she’ll sit in here for a few days and paint copies of the portraits.”

Feyre was very popular among historians in Night for her dedication to preserving ancient works. She’d restored a few paintings for them and recently took some of her more accomplished students to a set of ruins discovered in the lowlands of Night, thoroughly sketching and documenting the site from every angle.

Lucien shrugged and picked up another box to pass to Amren. There was still a lot of damage to be repaired in the Hewn City- it would be several hours before Feyre and Rhysand made their way into the tunnel. Lucien just hoped the next step wouldn’t be carrying all of the crates on the long haul back to the dungeons…

**\---**

**Several Hours Later**

**\---**

“Careful!” 

It was the last thing Lucien heard before he was buried alive. His arms were jelly and he’d nearly emptied the white marble space. A large crate stacked just a bit over his head should have been light- all the rest on the top tier were- but he realized too late that it could very well be the heaviest in the room.

Also, the wood at the front had rotted.

They’d come across a dozen or so crates like it- ones where the bottom fell out or the sides exploded inwards as Lucien tried to carry them. Cleaning up the wreckage (while trying desperately to keep things wrapped in shredding spell cloth) made the process far slower than it should have been.

As Lucien caught the heavy crate- or tried to- the front wall of it burst, sending things flying into his face.

Now he was lost, buried in darkness with a sharp ringing in his ears. His head was pounding, his entire face felt thick and swollen, and he couldn’t move more than his fingers or toes. He was laying on something cold and smooth, but the darkness was complete.

Also, either something was crawling across his cheek, or that was blood.

The ringing began to thin somewhat and he could hear a female voice shouting. Lucien tried to look around, but all he could find were bare specks of light in the darkness.

A deeper rumble cut through the female’s voice and it grew increasingly frantic. Something heavy hit the floor, and a moment later light exploded in Lucien’s vision. A blurry form knelt over him- one made up of black, tan, and bronze. The dark spots in his vision vanished as the form shoved aside heavy debris and grabbed either side of his face.

Lucien groaned. Healing magic poured through him. Bones in his nose and cheeks popped back into place as the bone knit itself. His ears stopped ringing and he could hear Nuala’s voice murmuring comforting words to a whimpering Elain.

The colors in front of him solidified into faces- Feyre (the one holding his face), and Rhysand.

“You’re alright,” Feyre said. She quickly looked back at Elain, “He’ll be fine, he was just dazed.”

“I’m okay,” Lucien’s voice was slurred. Feyre’s healing magic was still working on his teeth and tongue. His teeth had been cracked by something heavy, and in the crash he’d nearly bitten his own tongue in half.

Lucien rotated his eyes up so that he could see Elain. She was clinging to Amren and bouncing on the tips of her toes, trying to get the best view of her mate possible. Amren’s knuckles were white as she held Elain back. Nuala was beside her, trying to calm the female.

It was killing Elain that she couldn’t cross onto the white marble to reach him.

“What even is this junk?” Rhys picked up a heavy golden paperweight, “Desk supplies?” He was carefully removing the debris from around Lucien’s head, but as he held it up Lucien counted among the clutter figurines and even something vaguely resembling a compass. 

Rhys’ analysis might be right- junk. Lucien had his teeth knocked in and his face broken by a box of heavy junk.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Feyre’s magic repaired the worst of the damage, but she and Rhys had just finished bracing the Hewn City itself. There wasn’t enough magic in her for more than basic-level healing. She was as pale as Lucien had ever seen, and dark bags hung under her eyes. Her hair was a mess and her Illyrian armor was coated in thick layers of rock and dust.

Rhys and Feyre both helped hoist Lucien to his feet. A handful of treasures fell out from among the folds of his tunic. Rhys helped knock away what caught on him. Once he was vertical, Lucien brushed them both off and took a few tentative steps on his own. His back was fine, even though he was willing to bet he’d ache by the end of the day.

While Rhys and Feyre stayed behind to look through the debris on the floor (Rhys misted Lucien’s spilled blood just in case it activated anything), he made his way across the room and up into his wife’s arms. Elain practically shoved Amren across the room in her haste to grab onto her mate, and she gently touched every patch of red skin, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Lucien pulled Elain close, both to comfort her and so that she would stop poking at sore spots.

“Hey Elain? Why don’t you take Lucien up to the palace for a bit,” Feyre said. Lucien was about to protest when she raised her hand, “I fixed the broken bits, but you’re going to be black and blue in an hour. You should start the hike back now. Even we can’t winnow in here.”

“But-”

“I promise we won’t re-seal the vault without you,” Rhysand called. His dark power was dancing across the surface of the golden cup, trying to read whatever ancient spells wound through it.

Elain tugged Lucien’s arm- which was actually starting to hurt, truth be told. He didn’t want to leave, this might be the most interesting place in all of Night! Still, they did have a point. The journey back would be even harder later, once his wounds had time to swell and bruises formed.

“I want to know everything!” Lucien called out.

Feyre waved him off, “Yeah, yeah. I promise, I’ll tell you. This will take days to go through, Lucien. You’ll be helping again before it’s done.”

Dejected, Lucien let Elain pull him into the hall- which was already narrow BEFORE they started stacking crates in it. His wife immediately summoned a faelight and rounded on him, tugging at the collar of his shirt to inspect every red mark, “Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. My pride is hurt more than anything,” he brushed her off and gave her a light push down the hall.

“I was so scared,” Elain said. Lucien reached forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. She reached up to clutch his forearm, and they walked- somewhat awkwardly- down the tunnel. “You were laying there and I couldn’t do anything to help.”

Lucien huffed a laugh, “It was only for a few seconds, Rhys and Feyre arrived right on time. I’ll tie a rope around my belt next time, if it makes you feel better.”

“It does,” she pouted. “And it wasn’t ‘a few seconds’, Lucien. You were like that for fifteen minutes.”

He blinked and stopped walking, “What?”

When Elain turned around there were tears in her eyes, “You were laying there with that box over your head for fifteen minutes, and none of us could get to you. Nuala went for help and she found Rhys and Feyre on their way.”

He blinked. The crate- and its contents- had to weigh over a hundred stone. He’d felt multiple bones pop back into place… 

“I had no idea,” Lucien kissed Elain’s forehead, then pulled her into another hug, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. For him the danger passed quickly, but if it were Elain laying there on the floor bleeding and alone-

He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if the roles were reversed. He might have been stupid enough to throw Amren off and run into the room.

A shudder went through Lucien’s body. To wake up from that only to find out Elain was-

No, his mate was smarter than he was. She wouldn’t let her emotions make her irrational enough to run to her death. 

Lucien let Elain guide him down the endless tunnel, holding her hands all the way. He had to reach forward and she back, but Elain wasn’t willing to lose contact with him (and as she’d entered the narrow space first, they couldn’t switch places). He locked his eyes onto her shining hair and followed. When his bones grew heavy he pushed the weight aside. When his back began to ache, he ignored it. 

When Elain’s form grew fuzzy and he realized his eyes were swelling shut, he just focused on the bit of her he could still make out. Lucien was already used to letting his mate guide him out of dark places.

**\---**

* * *

**\---**

“Well hello beautiful, how was your trip?” Cassian was sitting in an armchair just outside the tunnel. Over half a day had passed since Elain first entered it, and in that time Cassian had both showered and moved his favorite chair from the palace atop of the Hewn City down into the cell. A low table with some books on top sat beside him.

“Are you moving in?” Lucien said. His words were thick, muffled, and slurred. He’d regained a bit of sight in one eye as his fae healing worked on the injuries, but he knew he had to look horrific. The sounds Elain made whenever she glanced back at him in the tunnel told him as much.

Cassian stretched in his chair, “Jealous?”

“I know what’s at the end of that tunnel, jealous?” Lucien was pretty sure he managed to stick out his tongue. 

“I don’t know, it certainly made you uglier,” Cassian snickered. “Elain, will you take me down later and protect me?”

“It’s a two and a half hour walk,” she said.

Cassian made a face at the thought of walking bent in half for so long, “Nevermind, I prefer the narrative that only Luci came out of there looking like shit.”

“I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it this century,” Lucien rolled his eyes (if Cassian could see that). He tried and failed to lift his arm high enough to wrap around Elain. His shoulders were aching. Instead, Lucien took her hand and unleashed a small burst of power.

Free of the tunnel, he was able to winnow them the short distance up to the House atop the mountain. 

Thunder boomed and air rushed past them. When the world settled back into place he and Elain stood on the large patio that the Illyrians used as a main entrance. He sagged against her, exhausted. A sharp pain rippled through his right side- Lucien had been ignoring that one for hours. Elain adjusted quickly so that she was helping hold him up.

“Just a little further,” Elain said as she pulled him forward. Lucien put his entire life force into his legs, making them set one foot in front of the other. It was up to his mate to steer, he’d just provide the forward momentum.

Elain helped him all the way down the airy hall until they reached the door to their chambers. Lucien tried to aim for the bed, but his wife instead forced him towards the door to their spacious bathroom. 

“I want to lay down,” he groaned.

“You’re going to soak for a bit first, it’ll help,” Elain pushed him forward. Lucien tripped on the top step of the sunken tub. He hissed in pain as his back violently protested stairs. White hot flame rippled from his thighs up through his lower back with every step down into the tub.

Once inside, Elain helped undo the laces of Lucien’s tunic and strip away the various layers of his clothing. As his undershirt lifted he felt something in the painful area of his ribcage pull, then the pressure abruptly vanished. Lucien breathed a sigh of relief at the easing- but a loud clatter came from the bottom of the tub.

“What’s this?” Elain bent down to pick up the object.

It was a small, squat round dish. Black in color, but inlaid with swirling silver designs and delicate script she could not make out. The dish was about as wide in diameter as her palm, but only perhaps as deep as the width of a finger. A small raised portion in the center had a hole burrowed into it, like it was meant to hold something. Lucien looked down at his skin and saw a deep, angry circle bruise where it had been pinned to his torso.

“It must have fallen in when the box broke,” he said, then immediately regretted it. Of course it had fallen in then, Lucien wasn’t in the habit of putting hard metal dishes beneath his shirt.

Elain was turning the thing over in her hands. It spoke more to Lucien’s pain than anything that he hadn’t even noticed it was under his shirt. When Rhys and Feyre helped him stand it must have slid down, only to be pinned in hard enough by his tunic that it wasn’t immediately visible.

“I think it’s a very basic incense holder,” she said.

Lucien sighed, “I’ll give it to Rhys when I see him next. I’m not walking all the way back down there today.” He bent to untie his boots and winced in pain.

“Let me-” Elain set the burner on the edge of the tub and knelt to help Lucien finish stripping. Once he was fully nude she gathered his clothes and stepped up out of the tub. “You just relax, I’m going to see if I can find some medicine.” With a tap she activated the faucet. Lucien groaned as blissfully hot water swirled around his feet.

She returned only briefly to sprinkle salts in the tub that filled the air with the soft scent of lavender and eucalyptus. 

Lucien sighed appreciatively as the heat slid up his legs, over his lap, and rose across his torso. The water shut off naturally once it had reached his neck. Heat soaked into his muscles. Combined with the salts in the water, he felt the throbbing stiffness gradually ease back. 

“How do you feel?” Elain’s voice was soft. She set a tray down beside Lucien’s head and shed her own clothes so that she could slip into the massive tub beside her husband.

“Better,” he breathed. He was half-asleep already. 

Elain knelt on the seat of the tub and reached back for the tray. “Drink,” she passed him a steaming mug of chamomile tea. He obeyed, even though his jaw was still aching. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Lucien waited as his wife straddled his hips and began dabbing medicine over the worst of the swelling in his jaw, nose, and eyes. His own healing ability would take care of the injuries completely within a couple days, but he was not going to object to anything that shortened the timeline.

She finished around the same time he swallowed the last mouthful of tea. 

“Is it alright if I take a nap, physician?” Lucien smiled with his eyes still closed.

“You may,” she kissed his forehead and slid back.

Lucien’s muscles were sore as he slid from the bench, opened his eyes, and forced himself out of the tub, but the bath certainly took the edge off. He toweled dry (avoiding the medicine on his face) and combed Elain’s hair loose from her braid. She returned the favor, then led Lucien out and into the world of soft sheets and warm blankets that was their bed.

As Lucien pulled Elain close and loosed a long, tired breath, the last scraps of consciousness left to him snagged on something. A scent in the air, and a coil of smoke rising from Elain’s side of the bed.

Before Lucien’s mind could comprehend what he’d seen, sleep was dragging him down and smothering him in its warm embrace.

Behind Elain, the High Lord’s incense burner began to glow.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Inspired by Chapters 117 & 119, “Incense Burner” of ‘The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation’ by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu.

**Chapter 2**

Light shining through the trees woke Elain at long last.

She stretched on her bed of grass and moss, feeling more refreshed than ever. When she opened her eyes, she smiled up at the ripe peaches dancing above, just waiting to be picked and turned into pies and tarts.

Elain blinked, then bolted to her feet.

She fell asleep-nude- beside her injured husband in the palace atop the Hewn City. Now she was here, in a blooming orchard, wearing a soft pink linen dress- a delicate version of the simple dresses she often gardened in- with no memory of how she got to this place.

“It’s a dream,” Lucien’s voice came from her left. Elain whirled in his direction. She could see him walking up a river bank, water cupped in his hands. 

He was wearing fine hide trousers that laced up the front, and an expensive linen shirt with puffed sleeves. Lucien’s boots were black and polished. His shining red hair hung loose down to his shoulders. Truly he looked like the wandering prince Elain used to dream about as a teenager.

“It’s a- how do you know?” Elain asked.

“I just do,” Lucien was close now. He held out his hands, offering Elain a drink. When he looked up she took a step back in shock.

His eye was gone.

Or rather- it wasn’t.

In place of his shining, golden eye was a brilliant green one- identical to the one beside it. Even the deep scars left by Amarantha’s nails were gone. Lucien was whole and unblemished.

“A dream, best I can tell,” he said again, then held up his hands. “Try the water.”

She couldn’t explain it, but she knew he wasn’t some illusion, that was  _ her _ Lucien. He was no dream- even if his appearance had changed somewhat. Elain lowered her lips and took a sip of the crystal clear water.

It was icy cold, but sweet. The flavor of ripe strawberries and bitter chocolate that ebbed and flowed as if she were eating such a treat. Elain’s eyes widened and she looked up at her husband again in surprise.

“What do you taste?”

“Chocolate and strawberries,” Elain said.

“For me it is chocolate mousse with ribbons of mint cream,” Lucien laughed and released the water still in his cupped hands. “I think I drank a gallon of it already!”

Elain walked with Lucien back to the water’s edge so that she could have more too. “Are you in any pain?”

“None at all! Elain, what is this? I’m not complaining, but what is going on?”

“I don’t know either,” she wet her throat and studied the land around them. 

It was beautiful- an idyllic valley with a bright green forest on the other side of the winding river and the orchard at their backs. The sun shone warm and bright above, and clouds dotted the sky, offering shade here and there upon the ground. Birds whistled in the trees and the breeze that blew through her hair was pleasant and carried the scent of peaches.

But something else was different. Strange. Elain reached up and tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear and froze.

Her ear was rounded at the tip. With wide eyes, she looked down at her hands to see ten normal human fingers. Not the longer, more delicate fae ones, but- well, now they almost looked short and fat to her eyes.

Lucien tucked his own hair behind his ears, showing off their rounded tops. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to have round ears,” he grinned. 

Human. In this dream, they were human.

“Early on- just after I was changed- I used to dream about being human again,” Elain confessed. “Even now, sometimes when I dream… it’s still like that.”

“You were human longer than you’ve been fae,” Lucien took Elain’s hand. She seemed nervous he would judge her for her dreams, “It’s perfectly fine.”

Elain cleared her throat and stood. She turned back to the orchard, walked up to a tree, and picked a low hanging peach. Elain took a single bite as Lucien came to her side. The flavor that exploded across her tongue was sweet and light- lacking the magic of the fruits in Prythian, but undeniably perfect all the same.

As he’d done with the water, she shared the peach with Lucien. 

“How did we get here?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien said. “I woke up beside you. I saw your ears, felt mine, and then went to the water to have a look and take a sip. You woke up only a few minutes after I did. It doesn’t-” he was going to say that it didn’t feel like a trap, but to say those words invited… a trap. Instead, Lucien cleared his throat, “I don’t sense anything wrong.”

“Me neither,” Elain said. “Should we- do you think we should explore a bit? See if there is anything or anyone around who can explain what’s happening?”

Lucien didn’t have any better ideas. It didn’t feel like a trap or some evil thing. Maybe he and Elain had somehow created this shared dream themselves. He possessed basic Daemati skills, but no matter how long it was since Elain came out of the Cauldron, she was still discovering new abilities. Nesta had turned out to be Daemati on equal footing as Feyre, Elain may just have been a late bloomer. His shields were usually up, but if she’d had a surge of Daemati ability she could have used the mating bond as a back door and pulled them both into this strange and beautiful world.

Without… conscious thought… for something Lucien doubted even Rhysand would be able to do…

It was less disturbing to just trust that Elain had created this world, so Lucien decided to go with that.

He held Elain’s hand as together they walked through the orchard. Peach trees gave way to plum. Plum to pear, pear to orange. After what seemed to be a few hours walk, the two had sampled over a dozen fruits and even some nuts growing upon the trees. Each and every one of them was perfectly ripe, the flavor immaculate.

Even though they snacked on the fruits they passed, Elain and Lucien never felt genuinely hungry or thirsty- nor did they feel full, tired, or hot. They also didn’t have the urge to relieve themselves. A true dream- although when Lucien pinched his own arm he certainly felt it.

At the edge of the orchard was a rolling meadow and a shimmering blue lake. Lush gardens filled the meadow, scenting the air around them with lilac, jasmine, carnation, and hundreds of smells Lucien’s now-human nose couldn’t hope to pick out. Every one of them soft and beautiful. Row after row of flowers- each in perfect bloom.

Along the lake’s edge something white gleamed: a sprawling manor as fine as anything in faerie lands. White stone walls and a slate gray roof made it shine in the eternal mid-morning sun. Even at such a large distance Lucien could tell that the houses large windows were all thrown wide open, inviting the breeze.

Lucien glanced over to Elain, who shrugged. “If we are looking for someone to help, a house seems like a good start.”

He nodded, not voicing what they were both thinking- in this dream they were humans. They couldn’t rely on fae strength, speed, or even magic if something tried to attack them.

Elain led the way towards the house, pulling Lucien along behind her. She inspected each of the plants that they passed. They were all ones she was very familiar with in both sight and scent. Nothing new or dangerous or strange lurked among them. Even the bees that wandered plant to plant posed no threat. They all hung low to the flowers, completely ignoring the two humans as their black fuzz turned yellow with pollen.

It was another long walk from the edge of the orchard to the home, and yet still Elain felt no different than she had when she first woke. By the time they reached the doors of the manor it had been nearly half a day, all of those spent walking in the sun. Her skin was neither sweaty nor burned, and not a single strand of hair had fallen out of place on her or Lucien’s heads.

Up close the manor was less imposing than it appeared far away. The white marble facade and large windows worked together to amplify the light of the meadow. What they could see of the interior windows were large rooms with high, vaulted ceilings. Soft green, blue, and yellow hues made them feel spacious and alive, even with the various portraits or crests hanging upon the walls.

Lucien tucked Elain behind him and knocked on the door. There was no sound from the inside, so he knocked again, harder. Elain noticed a servant enter the foyer, but she didn’t seem to notice there was someone knocking.

“Hello?” Elain called to her through the open window. The servant- a middle aged woman of average build and face- paid her no notice. “Madam?”

Nothing.

Lucien pressed the latch on the door and swung it inward.

The servant didn’t react in any way.

“Maybe she can’t see us?” Lucien stepped forward cautiously. He walked right up to the woman, who was busy fluffing the pillows on a low couch, and waved a hand in her face.

No reaction.

“So if we’re dreaming, are they real?” Elain said. She stepped into the house behind Lucien. The servant turned and walked over to the couch on the opposite side of the entryway- in the process, she should have bumped into Lucien’s shoulder.

She passed straight through it.

“Okay, so we’re not… physically here.” Lucien frowned back at the woman.

Elain heard a sound from the far side of the entryway. A grand marble staircase connected the first and second floors with a thick embroidered rug of blue and green running down the length of the steps. A man had stepped onto the staircase- one wearing stylish black shoes with matching pants that fit tightly from his hips to just below his knees, leaving his powerful calves- covered as they were by dark stockings- on display. A tight waistcoat and fitted undershirt barely hid the man’s powerful muscles. The deep green silk cumberbund around his stomach seemed purposefully chosen to highlight the hidden rises and falls of his abdomen- even though the layers of fabric.

“Ponce,” Lucien huffed.

The man came down the stairs slowly and with purpose. When his head became visible (topped with a fine hat), Lucien choked and Elain turned beet-red:

It was, in fact, Lucien.

A ghastly, pompous, stylish, foppish Lucien.

“Oh no.” Elain took a step back and her Lucien whirled on her. Her cheeks were flush and her earlobes red as she looked at the dandy coming down the stairs.

“What?”

“I- this- this might be my dream,” she winced as the other Lucien’s shoes touched down, sending a neat ‘ _ click _ ’ through the air.

Lucien blinked, “Say that again? You dream of me like  _ this _ ?! I look ridiculous!”

“We should probably just go-”

“Where is the Lady Vanserra?” the other man said.

The maid immediately abandoned her work to spin and curtsey, “In the western drawing room, Lord Vanserra.”

“Why do you hate me?” This time it was Lucien asking the question of Elain. He glared at the other Lucien as  _ Lord Vanserra _ turned and strode towards the far drawing room.

“Don’t judge me, I haven’t had this dream since I was a teenager,” Elain sighed and followed after Lord Vanserra. She had a nagging feeling that the only way to return to the real world was to let the dream play out.

Lucien hurried after her and that- that abomination. Elain was just happy it took Lucien’s form and not the form of her literature tutor. She’d had a terrible crush on him as a younger girl, and he featured in many of her young fantasies.

“Lady Vanserra, shall I join you for tea?” Lord Vanserra stopped in the doorway of a room halfway down the hall.

Lucien pointed at Elain, “You had better look as stupid as I do.”

As embarrassed as Elain was for Lucien to see this particular daydream, she rolled her eyes at the back of his head. The only reason she imagined Lucien in fop-form was because that was the styling of men in the erotic novels she stole from Nesta’s room in their childhood home. A traditional, old-fashioned gentleman.

Elain and Lucien followed Lord Vanserra, dodging around him quickly as he turned to close the door to the drawing room- making it the only closed door or window they’d seen thus far. Lucien raised an eyebrow at Elain. She glared at him, her earlobes practically scarlet now.

The drawing room was spacious, with thick white carpets and buttery yellow walls. Unlike the meadow-facing rooms, this one had very few paintings- only a handful of landscapes. A couple bookshelves and a white piano decorated the space, but overall it was fairly simple.

Lady Vanserra sat on a white curule. The bench-like chair had no back and curved up at the edges, helping to fan out the skirts of her expensive teal dress. The top portion of her hair had been braided back, with the braid then twisted into the shape of a rose, giving her an air of utmost innocence.

She stood to cursey a greeting to Lord Vanserra. The Lady’s hands were pale and she kept them close to the bodice of her dress. She was somewhat nervous of this Lord Vanserra, and it was clear they were unfamiliar with one another.

Lord Vanserra sat down in the curule across from her. Between them was a simple white table with a lace cloth. Lady Vanserra had been preparing for tea. She quickly reached for the soft pink teapot and filled the Lord’s cup as he watched with an almost pained expression.

“Lady Vanserra, why do I frighten you so?” His voice was gentle and deep. Far deeper than Lucien’s normal voice.

“You do not, my lord,” Lady Vanserra said, quite obviously nervous as she set the teapot down with shaking hands. 

Lord Vanserra noted this, and he reached across the table to still her trembling fingers. She flinched back from his touch, burying her hands in her lap. Pain filled her husband’s eyes. With a sigh, he let his hand fall to the table. “We have been wed for a month yet, sweet lady. Will you not let me touch even your hand?”

“Y-yes, forgive me my lord,” Lady Vanserra stammered. She slowly raised a trembling hand to rest on the table, her fingers twitching as though she couldn’t force herself to reach out further. 

The lord took her hand in his and offered a soft smile, “My touch is not so painful, is it?”

“No, my lord.” Lady Vanserra blushed and tried to suppress her breathlessness. The touch was like a firebrand to her soul, but she was an innocent maiden- unable to understand these feelings bursting in her heart.

Lucien rolled his eyes, “You read books like this?”

“Shut up, it’s romantic.”

Lord Vanserra leaned in towards Lady Vanserra- Elain- using the hand clasped in his own to hold her in place even as she tipped back to maintain the distance, “I know other touches that will feel good as well.”

Elain clutched her hands to her chest and mouthed along as her copy said “L-like what?” Ever so slowly, she forced herself to sit up in her seat.

Lord Vanserra eased his grip on her arm, staring deep into her eyes to see if she would flinch away from him again. When she did not move her hand away, he stretched his fingers out, lightly stroking the underside of her wrist. His touch slid up her forearm. At the juncture of her elbow he moved slightly outwards, tracing now towards her shoulder. At the edge of her gown’s capped sleeves he stopped and rested his palm flatly against her skin. Only his pointer finger ventured upwards before pausing with only the tip of the finger beneath her sleeve.

“How did that feel?” Lord Vanserra leaned across the small table.

Lady Vanserra’s eyelashes fluttered. “Quite… indecent, Lord Vanserra,” she whispered. Her voice was high and breathless. The eyes that met the lord’s were filled with both naive confusion and desire.

“Is it indecent for a husband to touch his wife’s arm?” He leaned in closer, whispering now too. “Lady Vanserra, we have been wed for a fortnight. I promise the mantle of a woman and a wife is more comfortable than that of a maiden.”

“I’m going to vomit,” Lucien declared.

“You can touch me however he touches her,” Elain said.

Lucien stuffed the tip of his finger under her sleeve without any finesse or romance. His voice was a monotone as he said, “Oh Elain, I love it when you let me try the really obscene things.”

While Lucien complained, Lord and Lady Vanserra had continued their little discussion. Lord Vanserra was leaning in with his other hand gripping the fabric of his trouser leg, clearly stopping himself from touching the lady further.

Lady Vanserra didn’t know what to say. She was innocent and chaste, and had never had an impure thought in her life. How could she even consider saying she wanted even so much as a smile from her husband? It seemed so… lewd.

Elain was thankful that only she knew the inner workings of Lady Vanserra’s mind in this particular fantasy. Lucien might very well laugh himself to death the moment the words “impure thought” left her lips. She had the purest heart in the Inner Circle but only her husband (and, thanks to faulty soundproofing, half the neighborhood) knew that behind closed doors she was perhaps the kinkiest fae in all of Prythian.

Evidently Lord Vanserra could see his little bride had lost her courage to speak- that or he’d decided he was done waiting and ready to be a bit daring. He rose from his curule ever so slightly and leaned in close.

Lady Vanserra flinched and quickly shut her eyes. When she felt his breath against her cheek she squeaked, “Sir, stop!”

Lord Vanserra froze. He sighed and slid back heavily into his chair. He stared at Lady Vanserra for a while, his expression… closed. Distant. “By your leave, my lady.” He stood and turned away from his wife.

“Wait-!” Lady Vanserra squeaked. Her hand shot out to catch his wrist. He did not turn around, but obediently froze. An embarrassed tear slipped down her cheeks. “I- I don’t know how to… how to…” She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out something small and round. Lady Vanserra pressed it into her husband’s palm and he finally turned to look. She stared up at him, pleading for understanding, “Please…”

“This-” his brows knit together as he brushed a hand over whatever it was she’d given him. Across the room, Lucien stood on his toes to try and see better. The thing was pale blue and circular. At the outer edges it was perhaps an inch tall, but rose to two inches near the middle. It appeared to be a bundle of silk.

Lucien’s eyebrows rose as he realized what the man was holding- and what the demure lady across the room was asking for. “You kinky little imp,” Lucien snickered into Elain’s hair. “Even in dreams, huh?”

“Always,” she grinned as she watched her fantasy playing out.

Lord Vanserra stared at the bundle a moment before making to hand it back, “Lady, I will never use force upon you. You are not ready, I will wait until-”

“I am,” she said quickly, and folded his fingers over the bundle. “But I am afraid that I may never find the nerve on my own, husband.” She emphasized the last word, even though her cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment. He turned to look at her fully now, but she wouldn’t- couldn’t- meet his gaze. “Please.  _ Please _ . For both of us.”

Lord Vanserra stared at his wife, reading everything from her eyes to the way her chin trembled. The fluttering of her chest as she breathed. The shaking of her hands. “Are you certain?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered. When his lips parted again she dared to quickly reach up and press her finger to them, stopping his words. “I am,” her voice was more confident this time.

With a heavy nod, Lord Vanserra relented. His wife removed her finger and balled her fists up in the skirts of her dress, embarrassed at initiating such an intimate touch. 

The man walked away from his wife, but this time she let him go. Elain’s eyes were bright with lust as she watched Lucien’s copy take long strides towards the closed door of the drawing room. “The Lady Vanserra and I are not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Become deaf, or I will throw you out to the wolves.”

“My lady-” a servant’s voice came from just behind the door, full of concern.

“Follow my Lord’s orders,” Lady Vanserra said. What confidence was missing from her a moment ago found its way to her voice. 

“Yes, my lady,” evidently all they needed to hear was Lady Vanserra’s consent in order to leave her utterly alone with her husband.

This time, when Lord Vanserra closed the door, he turned the lock. 

“My dear, sweet lady,” he said, voice low as he began to unbutton the jacket of his expensive suit, “I swear to you that I will spend my life repaying you for this gift.” He left his coat across the back of the couch near Lucien and Elain. His cumberbund soon followed. When he reached his wife he delicately- and with as little direct contact as possible- brushed her hair over her shoulder, “And I promise that I will be gentle always.” 

This promise was a whisper in her ear.

“She isn’t fond of ‘gentle’,” Lucien whispered loudly. Elain elbowed him.

His long fingers reached around her to the bundle upon the table. From it he pinched the very center ribbon- the largest of them all. The bundle unraveled as Lord Vanserra removed the length of blue silk. His wife visibly paled. She closed her eyes tight and took a firm grip on her skirts. She trembled visibly.

“Gentle always,” Lord Vanserra repeated in a whisper as he moved behind his wife and lifted the silk over her eyes. True to his words even in this, he only tied it tightly enough that it would hold itself up. He also took care to fashion the tie at the back into a delicate bow, the very same kind Lady Vanserra might tie in her hair.

She gasped as his hands touched her shoulders and he led her a few steps away from the table to an elegant chaise lounge. Its teal fabric was embroidered in golden thread, the cushions piled upon the back the softest ivory velvet money could buy. Elain pulled Lucien over to watch from near the table as Lord Vanserra helped his Lady to sit, then turn so that her legs ran the length of the chair and her back rested against the cushions.

“Stay here,” he whispered. She nodded meekly. 

In the short time it took Lord Vanserra to walk to the table and grab the other lengths of silk, Lady Vanserra’s hands went from balled up in her skirt, to clutching the armrests of the lounge chair, and back to her skirt once again. She did not know what to do with herself. Even her skin could not decide between grave-pale and flushed.

When her husband touched her wrist and began to wind a silken cord around it, she jumped with a squeak. He hesitated a moment- the Lady was biting her lips to keep her mouth shut, but the squeak was a barely contained ‘ _ Stop! _ ’.

“Do I pretend I did not hear that?” he said quietly.

She nodded once.

“Very well,” he went back to winding the silk around one wrist, then the other. These ribbons were far longer than the one that bound her eyes, as if the lady was not sure how much to use. Lord Vanserra draped the excess silk over the sides of the armrests before kneeling on the floor.

The Lady no longer had to worry about what to do with her hands. Lord Vanserra looped the silk around a leg of the chair and pulled until Lady Vanserra was forced to grip the outermost edge of the armrest. He tied the knot at the base of the chair tightly, ensuring she could not close her arm. She trembled as he made quick work of the other one.

There were still two lengths of silk remaining, but Lord Vanserra made no move to touch Lady Vanserra’s feet. That touch was far more intimate than her wrists or even brushing her hair from her shoulder. It may be too much- a laughable position considering what he still intended to do.

“Is anything too tight?” Lord Vanserra asked. Of course, he’d taken great care to leave the bindings on her wrists and eyes quite loose. If she genuinely wanted to escape, it would not be too hard.

Lady Vanserra did not trust her mouth to speak, but she quickly shook her head. Lucien noticed a gathering darkness along the blindfold around the same time his twin did. Lord Vanserra leaned in close and brushed his lips against the gathering damp. He could not kiss away her tears through the silk, but he nuzzled her slightly.

“You are no less for this, my lady,” Lord Vanserra whispered. He stroked his nose alongside hers as his mouth lowered towards her lips. With a gentle touch, he reached up to hold her hand the moment their lips met. It was a chaste kiss- but this time a tear escaped her blindfold.

Lord Vanserra held his lips against hers until he felt her relax somewhat. Only once she acclimated to this level of intimacy did he press on, kissing her with more force. Lady Vanserra’s heart was racing, and as she gasped for breath he took her bottom lip between his and stole a taste of her mouth.

Their wedding had been sealed with nothing more than a polite kiss upon the cheek- and in the weeks since Lord Vanserra had not been permitted even that much intimacy. It took genuine effort to restrain himself.

Lady Vanserra’s lips were unsure of their duty, but slowly she grew used to the feeling of her husband’s mouth against hers and learned to match the pace he set. Every instinct in her body screamed against it- this was not the behavior of a proper lady- and her hands were balled into tight fists. But she did not struggle to push him away. What she’d needed was to have the choice taken from her so that she did not feel improper or wrong. She did not violate the laws of her strict etiquette lessons in this way.

At least, that was what she told herself.

Her arms shook as Lord Vanserra’s own wrapped around her torso. Her entire body flinched at his touch- while nearby Elain smiled as Lucien slid his own arms around her from behind and began to trace the curve of her neck with his tongue and lips.

“If he knew where to touch you that dress would have been on the floor a long time ago,” Lucien whispered. There was a sudden intake of breath from Lady Vanserra and Lucien grinned, “Oh look, I think he’s figuring it out.”

Lord Vanserra had abandoned his wife’s lips and was delicately licking and sucking at the curve of her neck. There was a distressed sound from Lady Vanserra as her hands twisted against the ties. She was trying to hide her moans, and the hot mouth of her husband upon her neck was absolutely not something her sensibilities could stand. Or, rather, the fact that she liked it so much was what scandalized the lady.

“Anyone can figure out table manners or how to pour tea,” Elain groaned as she watched the other-her struggling on the couch while Lucien did his best to leave marks on her neck. “What they should really teach in etiquette school is cock sucking. It comes up more often than dinner parties.”

Lucien chuckled in her ear. A low, promising sound. “You know how this dream plays out, does the innocent little lady get to find out how good she is at that?” He ran his lips along her earlobe for a moment before returning to the ivory column of her neck.

“Not this dream,” Elain reached behind her to hold Lucien’s head against her neck. “But when we wake up I’m going to have one hell of a craving.”

“What about me?” Lucien pouted. The hands wrapped around her torso slid down, until one was cupping her sex through the layers of her clothing.

“After I’m done, dear.” 

One of Lord Vanserra’s broad hands was now sliding up Lady Vanserra’s calf. Though the woman was still quite nervous, she’d raised her knee ever so slightly. Her hands gripped the armrests of the chaise for dear life and she was biting her lip again, fighting down the words she did not want to say, or stopping herself from trying to pull his hand up higher? 

Though they were only a dream, Lucien could smell human arousal from across the room.

If he could guess the technique of his foppish-clone, and if he were to imitate it for Elain, he would need her seated. Lucien pulled one of the curules, intending to move it a bit closer to the display on the couch. The chair held firm until the image flickered. Then, when Lucien tugged, the chair itself remained in place while a second slid out of it until the two were wholly independent of one another. The chair he had touched felt solid and real, but it shimmered ever so slightly. 

Lucien eyed the table and grinned. There were two more ribbons of silk left upon it- Lord Vanserra never bound his lady’s feet (granted, she probably would have gone running for her rooms in fright if he had tried to part her legs at the time).

He pushed Elain down onto the curule and quickly grabbed the two silk ties. As before, they shimmered before peeling away from the dream-version. Elain pulled up her skirts and Lucien barked a laugh, “Even in your dreams you won’t wear panties?”

“Never,” her eyes were full of wicked light.

Part of Lucien wished others knew the Elain he did, that deliciously wicked little kitten who was so different from the gentle lady the world saw. But a stronger part of Lucien liked having that knowledge between just the two of them. It was more fun.

He knelt between his wife’s legs and kissed the inside of her thighs as he tied the ribbons around each ankle, binding her to the curule. While he worked, she unlaced the top of her dress and pulled it down to expose her delicate breasts.

Lucien growled. It was a primal fae sound that turned Elain’s core molten. On his way up to seize her lips he kissed the soft skin and used tongue and hand both to tease her nipples until they were hard. Only then did he give her a quick peck on the lips before moving behind her to watch the show.

Lady Vanserra was biting her lip in fear again as Lord Vanserra’s hand slid up between her thighs. He was tracing the edge of her gown with his mouth while his other hand worked the laces on the front of her dress. The lady was breathing heavily, but whimpers still dominated over moans. To allow such a touch- what would her governess say?

The moment Lord Vanserra’s fingers brushed along the fine hair of her mound she nearly jumped out of her skin. Lady Vanserra began to say something, thought better of it, and yet could not seem to force herself to close her mouth out of sheer fear. She was breathing hard, but not crying- something Lord Vanserra kept a wary eye on her blindfold for. 

“You are giving me a precious gift, Lady Vanserra,” the lord abandoned her chest to whisper in her ear as his fingers loosened her bodice. “I will make sure you are heavily rewarded.”

The front of her bodice sagged and his long fingers traced the hemline of her dress, pulling it down until her breasts were freed. She was left in a similar state to Elain.

“Now, put your feet on the ground. Both of them,” he pushed at her knees with his elbow. Hesitantly- and with much fear- Lady Vanserra’s legs sagged. She forced her legs to the side, but seemed to lose courage with only her ankles off the couch. If anything she closed her knees further. 

“Alright, I understand,” Lord Vanserra kissed her cheeks, then put a broad hand on each knee and shoved them apart until her toes touched the carpeting below. Lord Vanserra moved forward, using his own body to keep her from closing her legs once more.

He licked three of his fingers and slid them back up beneath the Lady’s skirt. Lucien wrapped his arms around Elain and began to stroke the hair of her own mound, tracing the slit with only the very tip of his index finger. There was a gasp from across the room, the Lady’s back arched, and Lucien slid his finger down between her lips.

Skirts blocked the other Elain’s sex from sight, but Lucien knew what his female liked. He teased her entrance, stroking the edges of the opening without actually dipping his fingers inside. The ridge at the back was especially sensitive, and Elain rolled her hips into his touch.

Lucien pulled her back to rest against his shoulder, making it easier for his fingers to work. Reclining across the room, Lady Vanserra’s whimpers had turned fully into high-pitched gasps. Lucien matched the stroke of his finger to those gasps.

When she loosed a soft cry Lucien took the signal to slide his finger up, up into Elain. She took hold of her own breasts, playing with herself while her hips swept against Lucien’s hand. Sooner than their counterparts across the room, Lucien slipped a second and even third finger into his wife.

Together they watched Lord Vanserra fuck Lady Vanserra with his hand. His mouth was now latched onto hers. He gave her only short gasps of air while his finger probed for that soft patch of skin that would make her go insane. The other hand rolled a soft pink nipple between his fingers, gently pinching and flicking at it.

He paused a moment and she let out a soft cry as a second finger filled her. Elain could remember how strange that felt her very first time- like she was filled right to the edge of endurance. Lady Vanserra’s breasts were hard and full, leaving even Elain’s mouth watering. Lord Vanserra had not sampled those delights yet- but neither fully had Lucien. He played with them with his free hand, but wasn’t willing to lose his view of the show.

There were several short, quick gasps from the Lady and Elain smiled, “She’s about to climax.”

“I wonder if she’s a squirter too,” Lucien laughed as he drove his hand into Elain harder and faster. The sound of her wet core sucking on his hand was as much an aphrodisiac for him as the moans from Lady Vanserra were for Elain. 

A crackling static began to build beneath the surface of Elain’s body, born of Lucien’s touch. Her hips rode against his hand, encouraging it to rise faster and faster. She moaned in time with Lady Vanserra as both Lucien and his twin pressed down on their wives’ knots. 

“Come on,” Lucien whispered, his hand moving so fast it was nearly a blur. “Fuck my hand.”

“Come on,” Lord Vanserra demanded. He ripped the blindfold off Lady Vanserra, “Look at me when you come.”

Her gaze was unfocused at first, but she immediately looked down to the hand filling her body. She couldn’t see past the wrist. Lady Vanserra gasped, but Lord Vanserra grabbed her chin and forced her to look up.

His gaze burned through her and her back arched as he pressed hard against the rippling skin deep inside her. With a wordless shout her whole body began to quake. Her hands thrashed against the bindings, not sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him in closer. Her thighs shook with the force of her release as she drew a shuddering break and cried out again.

Across the room, Elain squeezed her breast hard enough to send a jolt of pain through her body and came- as Lucien preferred- in a burst of moisture that dampened his hand.

He quickly undid the stays of his trousers as Elain’s orgasm broke. He didn’t want to lose sight of the couple as Lord Vanserra stood and began to remove the rest of his own clothing, leaving Lady Vanserra to shudder as fantom bolts of pleasure arced through her body.

Lucien grabbed the tea table nearby. With a tug it shimmered and broke away from the dream-version. The newly corporeal teapot crashed to the ground and shattered into bolts of light and sparks as he swept an arm across the top, removing any obstacles.

Lady Vanserra’s eyes widened as Lord Vanserra stood, wholly nude and stroking his thick cock erect.

“How does he do it?” Lucien whispered as he grabbed the back of Elain’s head and hauled her up. Bound to the curule as she was there was no hope of her getting her footing. During the act, however, Elain loved to be handled roughly.

Her neck arched back as Lucien tugged at her hair and she smiled wickedly, “No more foreplay. One long, slow thrust for the little virgin.”

“And are you a little virgin?” Lucien whispered, his voice harsher than normal.

“ _ Cauldron _ , no,” she laughed and he shoved her forward so that her hips hit the edge of the table and her top half fell. The stance was awkward with the curule dictating where her legs could go. It forced her ass out further and Lucien delivered one sharp swat to the swollen lips between her legs.

Elain groaned something barely intelligible but profoundly obscene. Lucien looked over at Lord Vanserra as he crawled forward on the chair, pausing only to hook his wife’s knees over the crooks of his arms. As he pressed forward, slowly lining the head of his cock up with her entrance, Lucien moved into position.

Lady Vanserra drew a strangled breath as her husband began to ease into her at long last.

Lucien, meanwhile, pressed himself against Elain’s entrance, grabbed her hips, and slammed in without finesse. 

She howled in wanton pleasure at the sensation of being filled in one crashing wave. The Lady Vanserra across the room threw her head back and was looking up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes as her lord slowly slid into her, giving her the courtesy of a gentle, smooth entrance.

With one hand, Lucien pinned Elain’s skirts up so that he could watch his member part her and enjoy the sheen of moisture that quickly coated his length. The other hand pressed hard against Elain’s back, pinning her down.

Lady Vanserra seemed to reach a breaking point at long last. She twisted her wrists, pulling free from the binding, and took Lord Vanserra’s head between her hands. He seemed surprised- until she pulled him into a deep, hard kiss. The kind of kiss he’d given her while his fingers danced in her core. Her legs curled around his hips and helped pull him in slowly until he was seated to the hilt.

Elain was clutching the edge of the table, so Lucien wrapped his hands around hers, abandoning the skirts. He used his body to hold her in place now, and rested his chin on her shoulder so they could watch together as he thrust and Lord Vanserra began to slowly rotate his hips, grinding his shaft against her hips and using it to tease her inner walls. 

Lady Vanserra moaned, then broke off their kiss to gasp for breath. Her husband pulled out as far as her wrapped legs would allow before driving back into her. This pace was faster than before, yet still patient and strong. 

The so-called ‘little virgin’ wouldn’t last long- that much was evident from the way her hips started to roll on their own. Elain was trembling as Lucien slammed into her hard enough to lift the edge of the table.

“I think- there!” Elain squeaked at a particularly sharp thrust. She managed to free two fingers from beneath her husband’s to point at the edge of the room. A distinct shine now marked the walls, spreading slowly outwards.

“What is that?” Lucien asked, he slowed his pace somewhat.

“The dream ends while you’re inside me,” Elain pushed herself back, unwilling to surrender the cock a second too soon. “When the dream ends-” she gasped, “-I expect to wake up-” a sharp cry, “-like this.”

“I promise,” Lucien whispered as Lady Vanserra’s cries filled the room and the whole scene faded away.

===========================================

===========================================

Lucien’s back, neck, and torso screamed in protest as he quickly rolled over in bed.

He didn’t have a chance to gauge his surroundings or take any rational stock of the situation. Elain’s eyes fluttered open as he settled between her legs and shoved his already hard cock into her in a single thrust. She was hot and wet and ready- and she screamed his name as he filled her.

The image of Lord Vanserra fucking his Lady was still fresh in both of their minds as Lucien’s hips slammed home into Elain. Her silken insides wrapped around him as she clawed at his back and tried to use her heels to force him in harder and deeper.

Lucien wrapped his arms around Elain’s back and hauled her up to ride him, giving her the depth she craved. One thing that little Lord would never think to do for his wife- Lucien slid his hand between them and gathered some of the dripping moisture from her sex. He reached around and the next time Elain lowered onto his cock he pressed hard against her other entrance until the rosebud parted and accepted only the slim white tip of his finger.

“Yes!” Elain cried out as he forced more inside. Lucien could feel her walls quaking against his shaft. It was only a small climax, and he wouldn’t let it steal from the main show.

He shoved Elain off of him and flipped her over so that her perfect round ass was on full display. Lucien bit each cheek hard before shoving his cock back inside her gaping core and his middle finger into her tightest hole. 

Elain clawed at the sheets, crying out as his thrusts became slower and deeper still. He reached around a slim leg to stroke her knot hard, rebuilding whatever might have faded in the transition between dream and reality.

The pleasure was too much for Elain to fight against. She clenched her core and forced her thighs together as much as possible, making her core tighter. Lucien’s cock ground hard against her innermost walls and she screamed his name and came hard. Elain’s entire body shook as spasms wracked it, but Lucien paid no mind to his mate. She wouldn’t want him to anyways. He picked up his pace instead.

Lucien slammed harder and faster into her until he gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise and came with his own wrenching cry.

Elain’s eyes were barely open as heat filled her, triggering another small orgasm. Her husband flooded her core as her toes curled and a soft smile lit the corners of her lips. Lucien collapsed on her back, finally aware of his aching muscles from the accident the night before.

“Good boy,” Elain whispered. She reached back to stroke his long red hair.

“You too, Lady Vanserra,” Lucien purred in her ear. His hand was still wedged between her knot and the bed, and he forced it to make small, indistinct swirls.

Elain gasped and tightened her grip on the sheets. Lucien looked up over her back and saw the incense burner he’d dragged up from the Vault of the High Lords- now filled with the ashen remains of a spent stick. 

He had a feeling it was behind whatever just happened to them in that dream world.

“We should take that back to Rhys,” Elain followed his gaze, though how her hips were rolling against his hand.

“Eventually,” Lucien growled. He ignored the aching in his back and reached over to pull the spent stick out. A small bundle of incense sat beside the burner and he took a fresh line and set it into the center. “I’m not done playing with you yet, though.”

Lucien lit the incense with a flair of power and ground against Elain’s knot until its own magic filled the air and dragged them under once more.

The next time Lucien woke, Elain had vanished.

##    
  



End file.
